Due to my work schedule and my roommates lack thereof I have had the apartment to myself for a few days over the Christmas/New Year’s break. It has been a little bit lonely but I have taken the opportunity to read, and watch the special features on my new Office DVDs. (I’ve learned that not everyone appreciates deleted scenes and episode commentaries like I do.) And since I’m the only one here I haven’t seen the need to be quite as discreet in some of my daily activities. More on this later.
Our landlord, Gary, has decided that our little apartment is quite as profitable of an investment as it used to be and has thus hired a realtor to help him sell it. The realtor has been very understanding and easy to work with. He has come by to take pictures of the place and a few times has brought prospective buyers to experience The Pistachio first hand. He has some of our phone numbers and usually calls to give us a heads up that some people are coming over.
Today when I got home from work I got a quick snack and was getting ready to go onto campus to purchase my textbooks. I pulled out my new Sports Illustrated and headed into the throne to take care of some business. I was about halfway through a very interesting editorial on the little unnoticed things in sports that potentially have a very big impact on the outcomes of their respective events when I hear a very firm knock on our front door. I hesitate for a moment trying to decide if answering the door would be worth my efforts when I hear a second and equally confident rap on the door. I decide to quickly abort the mission and attend to my unforeseen visitors.
In our apartment the bathrooms are conveniently located in the bedrooms. So on a normal trip to the john you would have two or three physical barriers between you and the general public. (The bathroom door, the bedroom door, and if there are no visitors, the front door.) Believe it or not there are some sketchy characters in Provo and, to prevent one of them from capitalizing on the fact that most everyone is away for a few weeks, I’ve been keeping our front door locked even when I’m there. Now that I’m on full alert and hastily wrapping things up I’m paying more attention to what’s going on out front I can hear a key in the lock. I figure it’s either Gary or the Realtor, but either way I’m in a potentially awkward position. You see, not only am I on the pot with my pants down around my ankles, but due to the previously mentioned lack of people in town I’ve got both the bathroom door and the bedroom door wide open. (Don’t knock this ‘till you’ve tried it, it’s actually very liberating in a way.)
Realizing my compounding circumstances I’m hustling more with every passing second. Making sure that nothing of importance gets caught in my zipper and confirming that my belt is at least most of the way buckled, I turn the corner just in time to see a somewhat surprised realtor and two unsuspecting clients coming through my front door. “Mind if we have a look around?”
Potentially awkward situation; averted.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Scott's Quest
I debated the issue for several hours. Should I leave at four, or should I try to be there by four? Four in the morning that is. This was important to me and I wasn’t going to let myself, or anyone else, down. I decided to split the difference and before I lied down for the night I set my alarm for three forty-five.
After one punch of the snooze button I jumped out of bed and turned on the stove. I threw on a few layers of clothes, had a quick bowl of cereal, and poured the now boiling water into the previously prepared cup of hot coco mix that I had craftily prepared the night before.
I got in my car about ten minutes after four, the temperature read 28 degrees. Good thing I had come prepared. I pulled up to the Marriott Center around four fifteen. The temperature now read 25 degrees and falling.
I surveyed the area and saw only one other car in the parking lot and no one standing near the doors. I positioned my car so that between my peripheral vision and my rear view mirrors I could monitor all activity.
I had brought with me several things to read, my iPod, and my phone to pass the time. I set my alarm for five just in case I dozed off and began to read. A few other cars pulled into the parking lot. None of us wanted to brave the cold before we absolutely had to, but we didn’t want to give anyone else too big of an advantage. It felt like a chess match and game of chicken all rolled into one. I continued reading, sipping my hot chocolate, and running my car for a few minutes at a time to keep me warm, all while keeping a close eye on my early rising rivals.
Shortly after six, all hell broke loose. One of the car doors opened and set in motion a torrent of activity. Luckily I was prepared for this event. I had my backpack, my blankets, and my gloves positioned for a quick exit. I deftly maneuvered myself to the ticket office door and, once situated, I found myself surprisingly warm, sufficiently entertained, and second in line.
I passed the time reading Sports Illustrated and intermittently chatting with my fellow die-hards. At about quarter to seven a tiny bit of panic struck when I realized that staying warm wasn’t going to be my number one problem; having to go number one was going to be my number one problem. Hot chocolate on a near empty stomach will go straight through you.
I was silently commending myself on my excellent planning and execution. I was warm, comfortable, and had arrived at just the right time. I had made phone calls and asked all the appropriate questions to know exactly what to expect. My plan had gone off without a hitch and soon my planning, preparation, and early rising were going to come to fruition.
At quarter to eight we were told that they were almost ready for us and were going to start a few minutes early. I efficiently gathered my things and prepared myself for the long awaited entrance into the warm lobby. I knew that I would be commended by a few and ridiculed by others. But anyone who knows me well would be far from surprised by my efforts.
Shortly before eight, we were led inside single file. After a friendly exchange through the glass window, a quick swipe of my Visa card, and a sincere “Enjoy the game,” I walked away with exactly what I had set out for four hours earlier: Five tickets to the Las Vegas Bowl.
Go Cougars, see you in Vegas.
After one punch of the snooze button I jumped out of bed and turned on the stove. I threw on a few layers of clothes, had a quick bowl of cereal, and poured the now boiling water into the previously prepared cup of hot coco mix that I had craftily prepared the night before.
I got in my car about ten minutes after four, the temperature read 28 degrees. Good thing I had come prepared. I pulled up to the Marriott Center around four fifteen. The temperature now read 25 degrees and falling.
I surveyed the area and saw only one other car in the parking lot and no one standing near the doors. I positioned my car so that between my peripheral vision and my rear view mirrors I could monitor all activity.
I had brought with me several things to read, my iPod, and my phone to pass the time. I set my alarm for five just in case I dozed off and began to read. A few other cars pulled into the parking lot. None of us wanted to brave the cold before we absolutely had to, but we didn’t want to give anyone else too big of an advantage. It felt like a chess match and game of chicken all rolled into one. I continued reading, sipping my hot chocolate, and running my car for a few minutes at a time to keep me warm, all while keeping a close eye on my early rising rivals.
Shortly after six, all hell broke loose. One of the car doors opened and set in motion a torrent of activity. Luckily I was prepared for this event. I had my backpack, my blankets, and my gloves positioned for a quick exit. I deftly maneuvered myself to the ticket office door and, once situated, I found myself surprisingly warm, sufficiently entertained, and second in line.
I passed the time reading Sports Illustrated and intermittently chatting with my fellow die-hards. At about quarter to seven a tiny bit of panic struck when I realized that staying warm wasn’t going to be my number one problem; having to go number one was going to be my number one problem. Hot chocolate on a near empty stomach will go straight through you.
I was silently commending myself on my excellent planning and execution. I was warm, comfortable, and had arrived at just the right time. I had made phone calls and asked all the appropriate questions to know exactly what to expect. My plan had gone off without a hitch and soon my planning, preparation, and early rising were going to come to fruition.
At quarter to eight we were told that they were almost ready for us and were going to start a few minutes early. I efficiently gathered my things and prepared myself for the long awaited entrance into the warm lobby. I knew that I would be commended by a few and ridiculed by others. But anyone who knows me well would be far from surprised by my efforts.
Shortly before eight, we were led inside single file. After a friendly exchange through the glass window, a quick swipe of my Visa card, and a sincere “Enjoy the game,” I walked away with exactly what I had set out for four hours earlier: Five tickets to the Las Vegas Bowl.
Go Cougars, see you in Vegas.Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Target, Walmart, and The Election
I really don't like Wal-Mart. Not because of any moral or social reason, I just don't like shopping there. I think their stores tend to be trashy, the employees for the most part are uninformed and indifferent, and when I leave I feel like I need to take a shower. If I have a choice between driving five minutes to Wal-Mart, or ten minutes to Target, I'll shop at Target in a heartbeat.
My feelings for Target and Wal-Mart were similar to my feelings about the candidates in the election. Either one would end up taking my money, and neither would have all the things I was looking for. I just felt like one of the candidates had more of what I wanted in a president than the other, and the other had some things that I would really like to do without.
Does this mean that you will never find me inside a Wal-Mart? No. Sometimes I just can't help it. In the Tooele valley there just isn't another choice. When I'm with a group of friends and they decide that they need to stop in at Wal-Mart, I'll go in and walk around, and even buy something if I need it. But that doesn't change the fact that I really don't like Wal-Mart, at all.
My feelings for Target and Wal-Mart were similar to my feelings about the candidates in the election. Either one would end up taking my money, and neither would have all the things I was looking for. I just felt like one of the candidates had more of what I wanted in a president than the other, and the other had some things that I would really like to do without.I don't agree with Sen. Obama on most issues, and I pray that the checks and balances in the system will help reign in some of his well intentioned, yet short sighted, ambitions.
Here's to four years of shopping at Wal-Mart.
Friday, October 17, 2008
What it means to be a fan
Why do people attach themselves to teams, players, or people? How can a person justify spending so much time following the preparation, performance, and reactions of said teams, players, or people? Why does someone let their emotions hinge on outcomes of said performances? Wouldn’t it be a lot easier to just not care? Wouldn’t everyone be a lot happier?
Being a fan means picking your team and sticking with them through thick and thin. When you are down six runs in the 7th and facing elimination, do you leave early to get a jump on traffic? Do you change the channel? Do you continually berate the pitcher, the manager, and the batboy for their sub-par performance? No! You stick with your team. You never give up hope.
Do you allow yourself to get worked up? Of course you do. This is one of the greatest things about sports, it evokes emotion. It allows our hearts to soar in the good times, but it also leaves us vulnerable to a crushing defeat. Could you avoid such heartbreaking moments by not allowing yourself to become emotionally invested in a team? Sure, but you will also exclude yourself from the emotional high that comes when the team you have cheered for since you were five years old comes from behind to win just as the clock hits 00.0.
Who out there was disappointed when the US Olympic Basketball Team had to settle for the bronze medal in Athens? We are the home of the NBA. The greatest players in the world come to our county to compete at the highest level and make a living. How can we bring home anything less than gold? Everyone in this country felt the pain of those Olympic basketball players who knew that they had not achieved their potential. Four years later, how many of us stood in our living rooms and cheered when Michael Phelps somehow came from behind to beat France in the 4x100 relay? Not only had Phelps and his fellow swimmers beaten France and the rest of the world, it was almost as if we as a country had pulled together, stood by our athletes, and came away knowing that we are the best in the world. It is healthy to allow ourselves to become a part of something bigger than ourselves. We can, and probably will, end up on an emotional rollercoaster ride that will eventually take us through the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, but eventually we will be able to look back and realize what a great ride it was. It wasn’t always pretty, but it made us feel alive.
Why live vicariously through a sports team? Can’t you get the same experience from a good movie? I say absolutely not, and let me tell you why. While the outcome of a football game may be as inconsequential in the long run as the conflict in a good movie, the struggle happening out on the field is REAL. These guys aren’t acting. That is real blood, those are real tears, and those are real people giving it their all in a game that they love. There is no director yelling “Cut, let’s try that again.” At the end of a movie if it doesn’t end up how you would have liked, the best you can hope for is a sequel. With sports, you know that there is always a chance for redemption, be it tomorrow, next week, or even next year. There will be a rematch, and revenge will be sweet.
Now to the elephant in the room, my team got beat tonight. Am I disappointed? You bet. Did it ruin my day? In a way it did. Will I have less of a spring in my step tomorrow? For sure. I knew as well as anyone that pulling off an undefeated season would take nothing less than a miracle or two. And I will be the first to admit that my team’s performance tonight appeared anything but stellar. TCU has a great team and they brought their A game today, my Cougs just couldn’t keep up. But have I giving up hope? Never! There are still six games left to play (yes, I meant to say six), and I believe that we have a very good chance of ending the season 12-1. And believe it or not, but it is still possible that win number twelve could come in a BCS bowl game. Is it a long shot? Yes, but so are the Tampa Bay Rays and look at the door they’re knocking on.
Win or lose, I will stand by my Cougars. I guess you could say that I follow the admonition of Paul: I believe all things, I hope all things, I have endured many things, and I hope to be able to endure all things. There have been some lean years, but I have faith that there are many great years ahead. This is an organization that is on its way back to the glory of yesteryear and I am going to hang on for the ride.
Being a fan means picking your team and sticking with them through thick and thin. When you are down six runs in the 7th and facing elimination, do you leave early to get a jump on traffic? Do you change the channel? Do you continually berate the pitcher, the manager, and the batboy for their sub-par performance? No! You stick with your team. You never give up hope.
Do you allow yourself to get worked up? Of course you do. This is one of the greatest things about sports, it evokes emotion. It allows our hearts to soar in the good times, but it also leaves us vulnerable to a crushing defeat. Could you avoid such heartbreaking moments by not allowing yourself to become emotionally invested in a team? Sure, but you will also exclude yourself from the emotional high that comes when the team you have cheered for since you were five years old comes from behind to win just as the clock hits 00.0.
Who out there was disappointed when the US Olympic Basketball Team had to settle for the bronze medal in Athens? We are the home of the NBA. The greatest players in the world come to our county to compete at the highest level and make a living. How can we bring home anything less than gold? Everyone in this country felt the pain of those Olympic basketball players who knew that they had not achieved their potential. Four years later, how many of us stood in our living rooms and cheered when Michael Phelps somehow came from behind to beat France in the 4x100 relay? Not only had Phelps and his fellow swimmers beaten France and the rest of the world, it was almost as if we as a country had pulled together, stood by our athletes, and came away knowing that we are the best in the world. It is healthy to allow ourselves to become a part of something bigger than ourselves. We can, and probably will, end up on an emotional rollercoaster ride that will eventually take us through the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, but eventually we will be able to look back and realize what a great ride it was. It wasn’t always pretty, but it made us feel alive.Why live vicariously through a sports team? Can’t you get the same experience from a good movie? I say absolutely not, and let me tell you why. While the outcome of a football game may be as inconsequential in the long run as the conflict in a good movie, the struggle happening out on the field is REAL. These guys aren’t acting. That is real blood, those are real tears, and those are real people giving it their all in a game that they love. There is no director yelling “Cut, let’s try that again.” At the end of a movie if it doesn’t end up how you would have liked, the best you can hope for is a sequel. With sports, you know that there is always a chance for redemption, be it tomorrow, next week, or even next year. There will be a rematch, and revenge will be sweet.
Now to the elephant in the room, my team got beat tonight. Am I disappointed? You bet. Did it ruin my day? In a way it did. Will I have less of a spring in my step tomorrow? For sure. I knew as well as anyone that pulling off an undefeated season would take nothing less than a miracle or two. And I will be the first to admit that my team’s performance tonight appeared anything but stellar. TCU has a great team and they brought their A game today, my Cougs just couldn’t keep up. But have I giving up hope? Never! There are still six games left to play (yes, I meant to say six), and I believe that we have a very good chance of ending the season 12-1. And believe it or not, but it is still possible that win number twelve could come in a BCS bowl game. Is it a long shot? Yes, but so are the Tampa Bay Rays and look at the door they’re knocking on.
Win or lose, I will stand by my Cougars. I guess you could say that I follow the admonition of Paul: I believe all things, I hope all things, I have endured many things, and I hope to be able to endure all things. There have been some lean years, but I have faith that there are many great years ahead. This is an organization that is on its way back to the glory of yesteryear and I am going to hang on for the ride.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Scottfunkel’s Handy Blogging Guide
Blogging has taken the world by storm. It has proven to be an easy way for people to get their voice, message, or idea out there. People publish blogs as a way to show off their business or family, to report on current events such as news, politics, and sports, or just as a way to simply get something off their chest. With the high customizability of blogs these days many people make a statement not just with words, but also how those words are presented. And it has come to my attention that while some people have great ideas, the way they present them makes it near impossible for us, the readers, to get what they are trying to say. To help you avoid unnecessary distractions for your readers, I have compiled a short list of tips to help you make your blog more readable.
So here it goes: Scottfunkel’s Handy Blogging Guide
Accents and emphases: My high school English teacher, Mrs. C, used a great analogy when teaching us about writing.
She told us that she had many scarves in a drawer at home. She liked to wear them to add a little more flavor to her wardrobe. So one morning when she was getting ready for the day she put on one of her scarves. She then saw another scarf in her drawer that she thought was very pretty, so she put that one on over the first. She then spotted another good looking scarf and decided that one looked good too, so she put that one on as well. This continued until she had several scarves around her neck, each one prettier than the one under it. She then asked us what she would look like if she had come to school that day wearing so many scarves. We all agreed that it would look gaudy and cluttered to have so much “flair” on at once, and that one, and in a rare instance two, would add plenty of accent to her outfit. Anymore than that would be overkill and distracting.
The same rule is applicable to our writing. A few accents will help you cause certain words or ideas to stand out to your reader. If you emphasize too many things, it’s the same as emphasizing nothing. It would be the same as highlighting every word in your scriptures. If everything is underlined in red, then nothing stands out. So use your “quotes,” underlines, italics, and CAPITALIZED WORDS sparingly, not on every other word, and they will have more impact.
Make it readable: Don’t use a light colored font on a light background, or a dark font on a dark background. Duck hunters use camouflage, or clothes that have a similar color and texture to their surroundings, so that ducks won’t be able to see them. Deer hunters on the other hand wear blaze orange so that they stand out to other hunters to avoid being accidentally shot. So when you are choosing a color for your text, think Deer not Duck.
All caps and italics should be used as accents and not in general. All caps is known as shouting and all italics seems like slurred speech to me, either way it can make a post hard to read if either of these is done throughout.
Punctuation and spelling: I know there are a ton of rules for punctuation and grammar, but at least use the most basic. Capitalize the first word of a sentence and all proper nouns (names, titles, etc.), and end each sentence with either a period (.) exclamation point (!) or question mark (?). It’s pretty simple. And while we’re on the subject of exclamation points, one is great, two every once in a while, and anything more than that try using more descriptive words instead, avoid excess scarves.
I think that bad spellers are a product of this technology age we live in, and all of us have grown to fall back on a spell checker. So before you post something to the World Wide Web, run the spell checker.
And use paragraphs for Pete’s sake.
Consistency: Pictures are a great way to illustrate your blog and help convey your message. If you are going to caption your pictures, either always caption on top of the picture or on the bottom, don’t switch. That way no one wonders why Grandma Smith has a mustache in her picture when it is really a picture of Uncle Jim and you just switched captioning styles.
Add-ons: Add-ons such as music players can help you create a more complete experience for your readers. If you choose to put a music player on your blog, please don’t stash it somewhere deep in the bowels of your blog where not even a bloodhound could track it down. Put it near the top and make it visible so that it can be turned down or off for that matter without a ten minute search. I want to read about your weekend adventure, but I can’t concentrate if I have “Dancing Queen” blaring.
I hope these few simple suggestions will be of some help. I don’t mean to stifle anyone’s creativity; I know that it is hard to find that fine line through style and structure, but when that balance is struck your voice will shine right on through.
Happy blogging!
So here it goes: Scottfunkel’s Handy Blogging Guide
Accents and emphases: My high school English teacher, Mrs. C, used a great analogy when teaching us about writing.
She told us that she had many scarves in a drawer at home. She liked to wear them to add a little more flavor to her wardrobe. So one morning when she was getting ready for the day she put on one of her scarves. She then saw another scarf in her drawer that she thought was very pretty, so she put that one on over the first. She then spotted another good looking scarf and decided that one looked good too, so she put that one on as well. This continued until she had several scarves around her neck, each one prettier than the one under it. She then asked us what she would look like if she had come to school that day wearing so many scarves. We all agreed that it would look gaudy and cluttered to have so much “flair” on at once, and that one, and in a rare instance two, would add plenty of accent to her outfit. Anymore than that would be overkill and distracting.
The same rule is applicable to our writing. A few accents will help you cause certain words or ideas to stand out to your reader. If you emphasize too many things, it’s the same as emphasizing nothing. It would be the same as highlighting every word in your scriptures. If everything is underlined in red, then nothing stands out. So use your “quotes,” underlines, italics, and CAPITALIZED WORDS sparingly, not on every other word, and they will have more impact.
Make it readable: Don’t use a light colored font on a light background, or a dark font on a dark background. Duck hunters use camouflage, or clothes that have a similar color and texture to their surroundings, so that ducks won’t be able to see them. Deer hunters on the other hand wear blaze orange so that they stand out to other hunters to avoid being accidentally shot. So when you are choosing a color for your text, think Deer not Duck.
All caps and italics should be used as accents and not in general. All caps is known as shouting and all italics seems like slurred speech to me, either way it can make a post hard to read if either of these is done throughout.
Punctuation and spelling: I know there are a ton of rules for punctuation and grammar, but at least use the most basic. Capitalize the first word of a sentence and all proper nouns (names, titles, etc.), and end each sentence with either a period (.) exclamation point (!) or question mark (?). It’s pretty simple. And while we’re on the subject of exclamation points, one is great, two every once in a while, and anything more than that try using more descriptive words instead, avoid excess scarves.
I think that bad spellers are a product of this technology age we live in, and all of us have grown to fall back on a spell checker. So before you post something to the World Wide Web, run the spell checker.
And use paragraphs for Pete’s sake.
Consistency: Pictures are a great way to illustrate your blog and help convey your message. If you are going to caption your pictures, either always caption on top of the picture or on the bottom, don’t switch. That way no one wonders why Grandma Smith has a mustache in her picture when it is really a picture of Uncle Jim and you just switched captioning styles.
Add-ons: Add-ons such as music players can help you create a more complete experience for your readers. If you choose to put a music player on your blog, please don’t stash it somewhere deep in the bowels of your blog where not even a bloodhound could track it down. Put it near the top and make it visible so that it can be turned down or off for that matter without a ten minute search. I want to read about your weekend adventure, but I can’t concentrate if I have “Dancing Queen” blaring.
I hope these few simple suggestions will be of some help. I don’t mean to stifle anyone’s creativity; I know that it is hard to find that fine line through style and structure, but when that balance is struck your voice will shine right on through.
Happy blogging!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Can life get any better?
I submit that it canNOT!
Yesterday was a great day. Around noon I made my way down to LaVell Edwards Stadium hoping to watch an exciting football game. Let's just say that what happened next was way more than I could have ever dreamed of. BYU gave UCLA a major beat down. 59 - 0.
Max Hall threw for seven touchdowns before he sat down halfway through the third quarter. The offensive line hasn't allowed a sack in three games nor have they been called for holding. The defense blocked a field goal and caused several turnovers. UCLA couldn't even score on our second and third strings.
In commemoration I decided to compile a list of ways to describe what UCLA went through:
- A rec league beat down
- Taken behind the woodshed
- An old fashioned butt kicking
- Humiliated
- Annihilated
- Trounced
- Blown out
- Beat like a red headed step child
- Schellacked
After the game I made my way up to Thanksgiving Point to see my main man Ryan Shupe and the Rubberband play. I'm ashamed to say that I hadn't been to a concert in a while, and was on the brink of losing my Shuperfan status. The only complaint I have about Ryan Shupe concerts is there are so many songs that I want to hear that there is no way they could play them all in one show.
They opened up with "Walk the Walk." They were sure to include mainstays such as "Phideaux," "Simplify," "Banjo Boy," and of course "Dream Big." Ryan was sure to include "All I Need is You" from the new album and we even got to see the new video for "Be The One," also from the new album. They also played the crowd favorite "Corndog Song" and Ryan even did an impromptu rendition of the old favorite "Go to Hell." They finished off the set with the energetic "Hey! Hey! Hey!" I knew that there was only one way that they could end they show with a bang. After they came back on for an encore and played a laid back "Hope," they went out with a bang with their very own, ever evolving rendition of "The Devil Went Down to Georgia."
Afterwards I thanked Ryan for a great show and then we talked music for a few minutes.
So from between screaming my head off at the football game and singing at the top of my lungs at the RS&RB concert, let's just say that I had a hard time singing the hymns at church today. Whenever that happens I know I had a really good Saturday.
After the concert we came home and relaxed on the couch while watching the highlights from the football game on ESPN. (Also, read more about it here.)
Can life get any better? I submit that it canNOT!
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The Characters on the Bus
Throughout this summer I have encountered a wide variety of people while utilizing public transportation. I always knew these people were out there, but I didn’t know there was a place where they all hang out. If the internet is the information superhighway, then the State Street bus is the character superhighway. The other buses that I ride have their share of characters too (the 801 and more recently the 451). I’m not guaranteeing a complete list, nor am I saying that everyone that happens to ride the state street bus falls into one of these character classes. So in the words of Dave Barry, I swear I am not making this up:
The Bus Driver’s Friend – The BDF seems to appear more regularly on the State Street bus. He sits “shotgun” (the seat nearest the front door of the bus) where he has direct and unobstructed access to the driver. If that seat is occupied when BDF boards the bus, he sits opposite that seat (with a partition separating him and the driver) and pouts until the seat is vacated, then he jumps up and maneuvers his butt into the desired spot. I have reason to believe that some of these guys actually have amateur relationships with the driver, but I assume that most of them secretly wish that they themselves could be bus drivers some day. Some can be helpful by doing things like opening the air vents and windows when the air conditioning is broken or nonexistent or adjusting the seats to make room for wheelchairs. Others try to swap “war stories” with the driver.
The Crazy – Crazy is also a common occurrence on the Sate Street bus. Crazy can be a man or a woman and may have any of the following items on his or her person: A fanny pack. A rolling suitcase. A shirt pocket complete with pocket protector and a wide assortment of pens, pencils, and other like-shaped items. Pants pockets bulging with who knows what. A hat, and/or sunglasses purchased at DI.
Crazy will often have a wild look in his eye. He/she will often be unshaven, and not in a rugged Tom Brady way, but an “I shave as often as I shower type of way.” (Which is not very often.) Crazy will make random comments that are unintelligible if audible, and usually to no one in particular. Crazy is the one that no one wants to sit by, not because they’re prejudiced, it just that you never know.
Creepy Guy – CG is a rare, sometimes funny, most of the time scary character. I had heard reports from one girl that I work with that she had been proposed to three times while riding the State Street bus. No doubt it was CG. Just today I had my own encounter, but this was of the non threatening sorts. CG was sitting in the seat in front of mine. As the bus pulled away from a stop he was doing some serious rubbernecking, apparently checking out what I assume was a female. It is worth noting that this guy had thinning, stringy hair, and if he owned a washing machine it must be broken. And I’m not sure if he was missing teeth or had immense gaps, either way he could eat corn on the cob through a chain link fence.
I’m not sure of exactly what he said, but it was something along the lines of “There’s room on the bus for her!” The bus wasn’t very full so for all I know she could have been a woman of large stature. I couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his remarks. Noticing my amusement he then proceeded to tell me of a time he was eating at Red Lobster near Sugarhouse Park and had a great view of the joggers. “They’re better than the food. Why am I paying $30 to eat here when I can go over there and not spend a dime?” I’m not sure if he was saying that he’d rather look at women than eat them or if CG has cannibalistic tendencies.
The Shell Shocked Coed – SSC is one that I encountered on the good ole 801. SSC is what one might call a sweet spirit. Her hair hasn’t seen a comb since she received her Young Womanhood Recognition award and she has no idea what conditioner is. She is oblivious to the existence of makeup and the clothes she wears have been discontinued by the DI. In other words she would be the perfect candidate for one of those makeover shows on TLC.
She is either a recent graduate or currently enrolled at an institution of higher education in Utah County. She has landed a new job as an “administrative assistant” and is having a hard time adjusting to the “non-BYU” atmosphere. Probably because of all of the U of U and Westminster alumni that she now interacts with on a daily basis, or the people drinking Dr. Pepper in the break room.
SSC was most likely homeschooled.
The Bus Driver’s Friend – The BDF seems to appear more regularly on the State Street bus. He sits “shotgun” (the seat nearest the front door of the bus) where he has direct and unobstructed access to the driver. If that seat is occupied when BDF boards the bus, he sits opposite that seat (with a partition separating him and the driver) and pouts until the seat is vacated, then he jumps up and maneuvers his butt into the desired spot. I have reason to believe that some of these guys actually have amateur relationships with the driver, but I assume that most of them secretly wish that they themselves could be bus drivers some day. Some can be helpful by doing things like opening the air vents and windows when the air conditioning is broken or nonexistent or adjusting the seats to make room for wheelchairs. Others try to swap “war stories” with the driver.
BDF: “There was one time on the 200 southbound where Steve picked up two wheelchairs and had three bikes inside because the rack was full. You know Steve?” Stated more as a confirmation than a question.
Driver: With eyes on the road, “Yup.”
BDF: “Not to mention it was raining and the first day of school. That bus was like a can of wet sardines.” As opposed to dry sardines?
Driver: “Mm-hm”
BDF: “That guy handled it though. I wasn’t even late for my therapy session.”
Driver: “700 South.”
The Crazy – Crazy is also a common occurrence on the Sate Street bus. Crazy can be a man or a woman and may have any of the following items on his or her person: A fanny pack. A rolling suitcase. A shirt pocket complete with pocket protector and a wide assortment of pens, pencils, and other like-shaped items. Pants pockets bulging with who knows what. A hat, and/or sunglasses purchased at DI.
Crazy will often have a wild look in his eye. He/she will often be unshaven, and not in a rugged Tom Brady way, but an “I shave as often as I shower type of way.” (Which is not very often.) Crazy will make random comments that are unintelligible if audible, and usually to no one in particular. Crazy is the one that no one wants to sit by, not because they’re prejudiced, it just that you never know.
Creepy Guy – CG is a rare, sometimes funny, most of the time scary character. I had heard reports from one girl that I work with that she had been proposed to three times while riding the State Street bus. No doubt it was CG. Just today I had my own encounter, but this was of the non threatening sorts. CG was sitting in the seat in front of mine. As the bus pulled away from a stop he was doing some serious rubbernecking, apparently checking out what I assume was a female. It is worth noting that this guy had thinning, stringy hair, and if he owned a washing machine it must be broken. And I’m not sure if he was missing teeth or had immense gaps, either way he could eat corn on the cob through a chain link fence.
I’m not sure of exactly what he said, but it was something along the lines of “There’s room on the bus for her!” The bus wasn’t very full so for all I know she could have been a woman of large stature. I couldn’t help but laugh quietly at his remarks. Noticing my amusement he then proceeded to tell me of a time he was eating at Red Lobster near Sugarhouse Park and had a great view of the joggers. “They’re better than the food. Why am I paying $30 to eat here when I can go over there and not spend a dime?” I’m not sure if he was saying that he’d rather look at women than eat them or if CG has cannibalistic tendencies.
The Shell Shocked Coed – SSC is one that I encountered on the good ole 801. SSC is what one might call a sweet spirit. Her hair hasn’t seen a comb since she received her Young Womanhood Recognition award and she has no idea what conditioner is. She is oblivious to the existence of makeup and the clothes she wears have been discontinued by the DI. In other words she would be the perfect candidate for one of those makeover shows on TLC.
She is either a recent graduate or currently enrolled at an institution of higher education in Utah County. She has landed a new job as an “administrative assistant” and is having a hard time adjusting to the “non-BYU” atmosphere. Probably because of all of the U of U and Westminster alumni that she now interacts with on a daily basis, or the people drinking Dr. Pepper in the break room.
SSC was most likely homeschooled.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Talking to Themselves
One night last fall I was leaving the Harold B. Lee Library on BYU’s campus after a long night of intense studying. Actually, I was there with a few friends so we probably didn’t get as much studying done as we should have. But nevertheless, the sun had long set as we came out of the large glass atrium entrance to the vast vault of knowledge that is the library.
As we embarked into the darkness I noticed a young lady making her way towards us alone through the deserted campus. When she got within earshot of her she began to laugh. It wasn’t a laugh like she was remembering a funny joke her friend told her earlier in the day, or a laugh like she was replaying the latest episode of “The Office” in her head, but a full out guffaw. This girl was busting a gut, and she was all by herself. My first thought was, “Did I forget to zip up?” She couldn’t have been able to tell that my fly was down in the darkness. As she got even closer and I checked myself for embarrassing blunders she started busting a gut again. This girl was getting a huge kick out of something, and there were only four of us around. I thought the girl had escaped from the loony bin. She had to be certifiably crazy, or homeschooled, or something. There are all kinds at BYU, I tell you what.
As we passed this loopy nut, I caught a glimpse of a wire running down her neck and into her jacket pocket. This girl wasn’t laughing at the voices in her head; she was talking on the phone.
Hands free devices are great. They can help you do important things like drive or type while you are talking on the phone. But many people are making complete fools of themselves on a daily basis by using these things.
Able bodied people with at least one free had can’t seem to muster the energy to actually hold a phone. Either they have a severe lack of endurance, or else all of their endurance is zapped by repeated marathon-like phone conversations. Could they really so lazy that they can’t hold a phone to their ear?
Some people confuse me by sticking the earphone in their ear, and then using their FREE HAND to hold the microphone up to their mouth. Not only were these things invented so that you don’t have to use your hands, but they are also designed to pick up your voice perfectly from exactly where they hang from your ear. By holding them next to your mouth all the person on the other end will hear is static.
All you people walking through the mall like a hot shot with your blue tooth stuck in your ear, you don’t look cool, you look lazy. And for everyone walking around campus with that little wire running up into your ear, you aren’t “multi-tasking,” you look like you are having a conversation with your multiple personalities.
So unless you’re driving in your car, typing on your computer, or performing another essential task that requires both of your hands suck it up and hold the phone up to your ear. That way we all know that you aren’t laughing at the joke that your alter ego just told, or at us for that matter.
As we embarked into the darkness I noticed a young lady making her way towards us alone through the deserted campus. When she got within earshot of her she began to laugh. It wasn’t a laugh like she was remembering a funny joke her friend told her earlier in the day, or a laugh like she was replaying the latest episode of “The Office” in her head, but a full out guffaw. This girl was busting a gut, and she was all by herself. My first thought was, “Did I forget to zip up?” She couldn’t have been able to tell that my fly was down in the darkness. As she got even closer and I checked myself for embarrassing blunders she started busting a gut again. This girl was getting a huge kick out of something, and there were only four of us around. I thought the girl had escaped from the loony bin. She had to be certifiably crazy, or homeschooled, or something. There are all kinds at BYU, I tell you what.
As we passed this loopy nut, I caught a glimpse of a wire running down her neck and into her jacket pocket. This girl wasn’t laughing at the voices in her head; she was talking on the phone.
Hands free devices are great. They can help you do important things like drive or type while you are talking on the phone. But many people are making complete fools of themselves on a daily basis by using these things.
Able bodied people with at least one free had can’t seem to muster the energy to actually hold a phone. Either they have a severe lack of endurance, or else all of their endurance is zapped by repeated marathon-like phone conversations. Could they really so lazy that they can’t hold a phone to their ear?
Some people confuse me by sticking the earphone in their ear, and then using their FREE HAND to hold the microphone up to their mouth. Not only were these things invented so that you don’t have to use your hands, but they are also designed to pick up your voice perfectly from exactly where they hang from your ear. By holding them next to your mouth all the person on the other end will hear is static.
All you people walking through the mall like a hot shot with your blue tooth stuck in your ear, you don’t look cool, you look lazy. And for everyone walking around campus with that little wire running up into your ear, you aren’t “multi-tasking,” you look like you are having a conversation with your multiple personalities.
So unless you’re driving in your car, typing on your computer, or performing another essential task that requires both of your hands suck it up and hold the phone up to your ear. That way we all know that you aren’t laughing at the joke that your alter ego just told, or at us for that matter.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Guitar Guy
I love guitars. I play the guitar, and I have lots of friends who play the guitar. I think girls that play the guitar are hot, and if they have a voice to match, well, let’s just say that they have a lot going for them. Guitar players vary in their expertise, technique, and style, but they all bring an important hue to the musical canvas of the world. Without guitars we probably wouldn’t have known such great artists as The Beatles, Willie Nelson, or Jimi Hendrix, just to name a few. But there is one that just seems to rub me, and many others, the wrong way. He is known as Guitar Guy.
Now guitar player and guitar guy are not the same. Guitar player might play in a band, with his friends, or all by himself. Guitar guy is different. Why? Well, let’s get to know him a little better.
Guitar guy is the guy who shows up to any social gathering packing his six string. He’ll be the one at the ward party or company picnic sitting in the corner or under a tree somewhere strumming away, hoping that someone will come and ask what he’s playing. He usually doesn’t sing, but when he does, let’s just say that Simon, Paula, and Randy wouldn’t be impressed.
If he shows up to a party without the acoustic in tow, it’s inevitable that somewhere during the course of the night it will come up in a conversation that he plays. And some unsuspecting young lady will undoubtedly point to a guitar in the corner and ask him to play a tune. He will do one of two things: 1) Rush over to the previously unnoticed guitar and proceed to pick out Stairway to Heaven or Sweet Child of Mine or some other song that he can’t remember all the words to. Or 2) Act reluctant secretly hoping that he will be encouraged, and when he is by previously mentioned young lady, he will pick up the guitar, start playing, and not put it down the rest of the night. Before you know it, seemingly reluctant guitar guy has played the whole Eagles anthology, pretty much every Kansas song ever written, and will have thrown in his own rendition of Praise to the Man.
Most people use the guitar as a way to express themselves, relieve stress, or as something to do with other musical friends. Guitar guy uses the guitar primarily to pick up women, and generally without much success. He doesn’t understand that most girls aren’t impressed by the instrumental (read: guitar only) version of Holiday by Weezer or Glycerin by Bush. Maybe he uses this approach because he has a hard time carrying on a normal conversation. Well, if he’d leave the guitar home from the ward party then maybe he’s get a chance to work on his conversation skills.
Guitar guy usually isn’t in a band because if he was he’d be the one taking constant stage dives and 10 minute solos during shows, much like Jack Black’s character in School of Rock. His band mates would kick him out early on because he could never understand why the bass player might need to run through the pre chorus six or seven times in a row so that he can get the lead in right. He’d be the one constantly strumming away oblivious to the fact that the rest of the band is trying to tune up, or discuss the logistics of getting to the next show.
So next time you’re at a party, and you suspect that you might have struck up a conversation with guitar guy, whatever you do, don’t ask him to play you a song. Unless you’re in the mood for an hour or so of really bad classic rock.
(Special thanks to Jim Rome and Scott Hales, and no, neither of them would be considered guitar guy.)
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Mass Transit Adventures
So this summer I ended up living in Provo and working for Salt Lake County. It’s about an 80 mile round trip and I calculated the cost of driving to be about $15 a day. (This was when a gallon of gas cost about $3.30 and assuming that my Explorer was getting 20mpg, which it does more often than you think.) I started the summer getting up early every day and driving an hour each way all by myself in my “gas guzzling SUV.” Take that Al Gore.
Well, $15 a day added up quicker than I thought. And before I knew it, I had racked up a gas bill of over $400 for the month of May. Ouch. I quickly realized that driving every day wasn’t going to be viable; I would have to seek an alternative. After looking into vanpools and carpools, I decided to buy a student bus pass from BYU that I could use for the remainder of the summer that cost a mere $30.
After consulting the UTA website and a fellow bus riding friend, not to mention a little trial and error, I ended up riding “The 801,” an express bus that works it’s way through Provo and Orem, then jumps on the freeway and doesn’t stop until it gets to downtown Salt Lake City. From there I catch “The Sate Street Bus” or “200” down to 2100 South where I work. And therein lies the adventure.
“The 801” is made up of an interesting demographic. First there are all of the church employees. They are quite distinguishable due to the Church Office Building ID tags clipped to their belts and their clean cut, “going to High Council meeting” appearance and demeanor.
The next main group to call “The 801” their ride are the law school interns. They are always well dressed but, unlike their church employed busmates, they tend to wear colored dress shirts. They can be spotted updating resumes and cover letters on their laptops or researching potential employers on the internet (since “The 801” has wi-fi). They converse amongst themselves in law school speak and are often overheard saying things like, “I would have gone to Harvard/Vanderbilt/Georgetown but BYU is such a deal and my wife really likes it here so…” They are bright, hardworking, and have only one thing on their minds: Making partner.
The rest of the bus is made up of a smattering of other interns, secretaries, various businesspersons and a few other characters.
“The 200” is made up of people of all shapes and sizes, literally. The 60’s were not kind to most of these people. The characters on this bus are so varied that it would be nigh impossible to generalize them in any way. I will have to follow up with a post about some of the individual characters I’ve encountered on my mass transit adventures.
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